“Oh, really?” He doesn’t sound at all surprised.

“I’ve never been with a guy who made me come. Without my help.”

I ignore the smug tilt of his lips when I say this. At least, I try to hide the way I’m shaking inside, so desperate for the sensation overload that happens when he touches me. But maybe he should see. Maybe it’ll make him want to outdo himself today.

“So, just to be clear,” I whisper. “I’m using you for sex.”

Finn reaches behind me and I feel my eyes falling closed, my senses rising in anticipation of his first touch. He gently gathers my hair in his hands, barely brushes his fingers against the nape of my neck as he bunches the strands into a twist and closes a single fist around it. “Then start by kissing me.”

He’s holding my head by my hair; I try, but I can’t move any closer.

I try again but he’s holding me still, smiling darkly at my lips. I close my eyes and reach out, running my hands up his bare stomach and over his chest. His skin is impossibly warm. He’s hard and smooth, nipples tightening under my palms, and he lets out a sharp hiss when I scratch my nails over them, loosening his hold on my hair. This feels familiar, and also not: This time the sex isn’t rushed or cramped, drunken or spontaneous.

It’s intentional, and we have all afternoon.

At least, I think we do. Uncertainty about his business here tickles my thoughts, but that evaporates when my hands move up his neck, and I brush my mouth over his. With a groan he slides his lips across mine, easing his tongue inside, and all at once it’s fevered. He pushes me back, turning me, and we stumble down a hall, knocking against a wall, where he stills, pressing the length of his body to mine.

“Last night I wanted to eat your pussy,” he says directly into my ear. “I still want it. I want you wild, squirming all over my face. What do you think of that?”

I think it sounds like an excellent plan.

As Finn pulls away and tugs me down the hall, I count three bedrooms—three tiny bedrooms—with his at the end, on the street side of the house. It’s pretty empty, other than a full-size IKEA bed against one wall and matching dresser against the other. Finn’s suitcase rests just next to the closet door.

Removed from the sun streaming through the windows, this side of the house is cool, and we trip in and stop, only inches apart. His warmth grows and ebbs with each of his heavy breaths. I’m practically gasping, my heart is thudding so hard.